The night buzzed with celebration. Music echoed from just beyond the crowd, but Erion stood apart, the noise muffled through the phone pressed against his ear. His posture was rigid, his face grim.
"What do you mean, nothing?" he asked sharply, eyes scanning the bustling plaza as if searching for clarity in the chaos.
The voice on the other end was unmistakable—calm, commanding, and male. It belonged to Commander Xerxes.
"It's too tight, Major," the commander said. "Our cloak couldn't make it past the middle floors. That's the limit for now."
"What about Building Three? Do we have anything on the people inside?"
"Yes. Just as Miss Arsenault said—lower-class civilians, all funded by the company. But beyond that, the records were transferred to the upper levels. Only medical files were left behind," Xerxes explained, tone neutral but firm.
Erion fell silent. He had anticipated obstacles, but this felt too soon. This kind of information should've been easy to access, he thought.
"Just give the word, Major," Xerxes said, breaking the pause. "I'll initiate Protocol Two."
Protocol Two.
Break in. Get what we need.
But that meant risk—risk of exposure. And exposure meant danger not just to them, but to Evah.
Even if they weren't caught, the simple act of looking could tip someone off. If they knew Evah was involved, the danger to her would multiply.
And worse—right now, they didn't even know if she remembered what she had once known.
His thoughts spiraled.
"Major," Xerxes's voice cut through, "maybe it's time to ask her."
Erion closed his eyes, already knowing this was coming. The commander had been waiting for the right moment to suggest it. But Evah had only just begun to recover.
He exhaled slowly. "I will. But keep going for now. Don't stop at the Son of the Goddess—we might uncover a bigger connection."
"Affirmative." The line went dead.
Erion lowered the phone.
I really want to ask that too... Where is the flash drive?
EXT. PLAZA QUADRANGLE – 8 PM
The engine noise faded into the night, leaving Evah standing alone in a foreign land. Laughter echoed from the plaza. People passed her in groups, drawn toward the lively venue ahead.
So this is Erion's welcome party. Lavish. Unfamiliar.
Stone paving stretched under her feet, lending the scene a quaint, countryside charm. A few steps ahead, a wide half-circle staircase led down to a small plaza. In its center, a modest fountain splashed quietly, glowing beneath strings of warm lights suspended overhead. Families, dressed as casually as she was, filled the space—smiling, talking, swaying to the music from the hall.
She took a breath and stepped inside.
The hall was covered but open, letting the music breathe into the cool evening air. A long banquet table ran along one side, heaped with food she didn't recognize—but everything looked rich, colorful, delicious. A bar stood at the far end, surrounded by laughing guests.
Why am I even here?
Evah sat at a long table set for six, hands folded on her lap. Her white and yellow dress, chosen by Mrs. Mcquide, fit like it had been made just for her. Her twin braids were decorated with small flowers, her soft features framed with Nova's careful makeup.
I hope Luna and Nova come soon.
"Drink for the lady?"
A young man stood beside her, holding a tray of beers. He was around her age, dressed in plain clothes like the others. Caught off guard, Evah gave a small nod.
He placed the glass down gently, bowing with a smile before walking off.
The music faded slightly, replaced by the sound of a microphone clicking on. A spotlight turned to a low platform at the front. Mr. and Mrs. Mcquide stepped onto it. He wore a collared shirt—formal, but relaxed. She wore a soft blue dress that swayed as she walked.
"Thank you all for being here to welcome our son home," Mr. Mcquide said. Mrs. Mcquide smiled beside him.
"Erion, come up and say a few words."
Evah leaned forward, trying to spot him in the crowd. Then she saw him.
I haven't seen Erion tonight, She tried peering in his direction.
The crowd shifted. A man stepped onto the platform, catching the light.
Erion.
He wore a crisp gray uniform trimmed with subtle insignias and polished medals that gleamed against the fabric. His posture was upright, formal—every line of his figure refined and composed. He held his cap at his side, revealing neatly styled dark hair. The way it swept back framed his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his eyes.
This was the first time she saw him in uniform. Something about the way it fit him—clean, commanding, dangerous—made her stare, just like everyone else. But unlike them, she didn't know if she admired it… or feared it.
He bore the presence of a man shaped by discipline and legacy—composed to perfection, unreachable, almost unrecognizable from the person she thought she knew.
It was just the uniform—yet somehow, it made him feel like an entirely different person.
But this was Erion. He was always shifting, always wearing another face.
And she was always left unsure, trying to understand which version of him was real.
The uniform didn't just change how he looked—it transformed him. It reminded her of everything he carried. The authority. The responsibility.
The guilt clawed its way up her throat.
She had seen the smiles. The warm greetings. The trust on every face that passed her by. And yet—none of them knew. Not what had happened. Not why he was here.
He's protecting me from something I started.
They're celebrating him. And I'm the reason he's burdened at all.
Her heart tightened. Her vision blurred slightly as he spoke, his voice steady, gracious, unaware of her slipping away.
"Hello everyone. Thank you for being here tonight." He bowed, and the room applauded.
Evah shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor—though no one seemed to notice over the noise.
She couldn't breathe. The weight pressing against her chest was too much.
Sitting there, pretending everything was fine—it felt impossible.
All she wanted now was a way out. Any way out.